


Vhenas

by vivisextion



Series: Ar lath'an: This Place of Love [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Humour, M/M, Masturbation, Reunion Sex, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Voyeurism, mild hint of D/s, nanders - Freeform, nathaniel is a badass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 23:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18838564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivisextion/pseuds/vivisextion
Summary: Zevran drops by for a surprise visit. The inhabitants of Vigil's Keep don't appreciate surprise visits. (Smut is in the second chapter.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> vhenas: home

Vigil’s Keep was a formidable structure, far more imposing in the dark of night than he’d expected. Zevran looked up at it, suitably impressed. So much stone, so many walls, separating him from his beloved. But no matter. Not even the archdemon could keep him from his husband now.

The rogue could see that parts of the Keep that were under fortification by dwarven hands. Fortunately for him, taking advantage of the flaws in these areas had granted him access. He would have a word with Theron about them, once they were reunited, and once certain… marital concerns, were laid to rest.

There was nothing like being so high up, with only the wind in your hair and the pounding in your heart while scaling the side of an impregnable fortress, Zevran thought. He was over the ramparts in no time, concealed behind a ballista as a guard on patrol walked past. Once the man had opened a door leading to a flight of descending stairs, Zevran knocked him clean out with a swift, calculated blow to the back of the head. Nothing lethal, just enough for unconsciousness. Theron would not appreciate the unnecessary death of his staff.

He snuck down the stairs. Theron had not said where his chambers were, but in his experience, important people always had theirs on the highest floors. Such was nature of hierarchy. So, his beloved could not be far off, then. Nothing could stop him. He was Zevran Mahariel, master of stealth. He peeked around a corner, slinking out of the shadows, when -

“Drop your weapons,” came a low, gravelly voice from behind him.

Zevran did as he was told. He was not carrying his customary arsenal of weaponry, since this was no assassination attempt, but he would not go anywhere empty-handed, either. Three Antivan daggers clattered to the stone floor. He dared to turn around, then, hands in the air to show he was not armed.

The voice belonged to a raven-haired human male armed with an impressive longbow, who was pointing an arrow straight at his face. Zevran suddenly felt a sense of nostalgia. That was how he’d met his husband, after all.

Beside the archer stood a man with a scruffy beard, blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. Mage robes, Tevinter style. His staff was directed right at Zevran, too, glowing with an icy frost at the tip. His goose was well and truly cooked.

“Told you it wasn’t the dwarf sneaking around, Anders,” said the archer.

The assassin decided to employ an old favourite of his tactics - seducing his way out of tight spots - though it often led him into other tight spots. After all, it had worked out so well last time. Zevran chuckled to himself.

“From one devilishly handsome rogue to another, I must commend you. You are quite skillful to have noticed my arrival.”

But his flattery fell flat. “You’re not the first person to try and break in here,” responded Nathaniel, unamused.

“Takes one to know one, I presume.” Zevran cocked his head to one side. Interesting. If it had not been for the Grey Warden armour, he would have guessed this man was an assassin too. “It seems that in my eagerness to enter the Warden-Commander’s bedchamber, I have been careless.”

Nathaniel Howe knew an Antivan accent when he heard one. His aim did not waver. “A Crow? You have no business in Vigil’s Keep. And certainly not in the Commander’s private quarters.”

“Not another one!” the mage complained, rolling his eyes. “Maker’s smalls, you lot are almost as bad as the darkspawn.”

“I beg your pardon, good sers! Not all Antivans are Crows,” Zevran protested.

“Oh, so you’re an Antivan who just happens to be armed to the teeth and sneaking around Grey Warden headquarters? Excuse us for jumping to conclusions,” the blonde retorted.

Zevran had to give him that. “Ah. Yes. I take your point.”

“What is your business here?” the archer demanded. “Did Bann Esmerelle send you to eliminate the Commander as well?”

Zevran raised a blonde eyebrow, and for the first time, a frown crossed his face. “You can’t be serious. Which idiot Master accepted a contract for the Commander of the Grey? Our dear Theron was already impossible to kill when the entirety of the Grey Wardens consisted of just him and Alistair. Believe me, I tried. Admittedly, not very hard, but still.”

“You what?” Anders goggled at the elf. Nathaniel nearly lowered his bow in surprise. The Crow had referred to the Commander _and_ the King of Ferelden by name, and by the sound of it, made an attempt on their lives. “What in the name of Andraste’s knicker-weasels are you talking about?”

“Explain yourself,” the dark-haired rogue snapped. “How do you know the Commander?”

“It is a long and exciting tale, truly. I couldn’t do it justice while-”

“ _Shem,_ ” came a disdainful female voice, as they heard dainty footsteps coming up the stairs. “Commander Mahariel wishes to - what in the name of _Fen’Harel_ is going on here?!”

A blonde, elven woman stood behind the two Wardens, eyes wide as she took in the scene, quickly drawing her staff as well. The assassin noticed her _vallaslin_ right away. Another Dalish elf Warden. Theron must have been ecstatic. Now there were two of them.

“An intruder, my lady,” the rogue replied. “Another Antivan Crow. He claims to know the Commander.”

“Dread Wolf take you Crows!” Velanna spat, jabbing her staff toward the assassin. “I am sick to death of them.”

“ _Aneth ara,_ _lethallan_.” The Antivan elf shot her his most charming smile, offering the greeting the Dalish would only use amongst themselves. After all, his husband had taught him enough to get by. “You must not be of the Sabrae clan, or I would have recognised you.”

“You-” The other blonde elf drew back, startled, eyes wide. Dalish words in an Antivan accent? “You speak my language? But you don’t look…” She stared at the Antivan, puzzled. He had facial markings, but they were most certainly not _vallaslin._

“Will wonders never cease,” Anders chimed in, tone dripping with sarcasm.

Nathaniel glared at the assassin with a wary eye. “Give me a good reason not to put this arrow straight through your foot,” he growled at Zevran.

“Well, firstly, I am no longer a Crow. And secondly, while I may be Antivan...”

Hands still in the air, he tugged one of his gloves off, to reveal a silver ring on his finger, with foxes and hares engraved around it. Nathaniel raised his bow at the sudden movement, but the Dalish woman put a hand on the archer’s arm to stay his arrow.

“Wait. That’s a Dalish promise ring. That can’t be.” Astounded, she stepped closer to examine it. It appeared to be the genuine article, blessed by a Keeper. “You’re _bonded?_ But…”

A look of dawning realisation slowly slid onto the archer’s face. “Fetch the Commander, Velanna.”

She dashed off at once. It was a mark of the urgency of the situation, that she accepted a command from a _shem_ without any argument. Nathaniel did not take his eyes off the intruder. His companion, who was slightly slower on the uptake, nudged him with an elbow excitedly.

“ _That’s_ the husband, Nate! He did say it was another elf,” mused the blonde mage. “Didn’t tell us he was Antivan, though.”

“Well-spotted, Anders.” The archer’s tone was sardonic. He eyed Zevran up and down, assessing the threat. “If you are who I think you are, you are a fool, not coming through the front gate. You could have been shot on sight.”

“And I don’t fancy having to explain to the Commander why I turned his husband into an ice sculpture... Or worse, a pile of charcoal briquettes.” The mage stowed his staff away upon his back, crossing his arms and peering at the Antivan elf. Funny, he was more handsome than Anders had imagined.

“Ah, but then how would I surprise our dear Warden-Commander?” Zevran gave them a placating smile. “Of course, I had not known he would have such a dedicated team of comrades watching his back. Then again, he does have a habit of collecting such individuals - including myself, of course.”

“Who exactly are you?” Nathaniel asked, eyes narrowed on suspicion.

“Zevran Mahariel, previously Zevran Arainai - Zev, to my friends. Former Antivan Crow, turned darkspawn slayer alongside the Hero of Ferelden during the Fifth Blight, now consort to the Commander of the Grey.”

“Consorts are for reigning monarchs,” said Nathaniel dryly. But he knew who this elf was now, and only then did he relax his grip on his bow. Zevran put his hands down, as well.

“Thank you, kind ser. My arms were beginning to ache.”

The three men heard hurried footfalls, coming up the stairs. Zevran spun around, and, for the first time in so long, came face to face with his husband.

“ _Amore!_ ” the assassin cried. His face split into a wide grin, beaming at Theron.

The Warden-Commander, who had come running to the scene led by Velanna, skidded to a halt. He stood there, dumbfounded, blinking, not daring to believe his eyes. Then he pressed a hand to his mouth, fighting back a sob and failing.

“ _Zevran?_ ”

And then Theron all but threw himself at the Antivan elf, whose arms were open wide to receive his beloved in a tight embrace, swinging him around with such joy at their reunion. Velanna watched, jaw threatening to hit the stone floor. Nathaniel stood there like a golem, stunned. Anders had a little sappy smile on his face.

When the two elves parted, arms still wrapped around each other, the Wardens saw that tears stained their Commander’s cheeks. They had never seen him cry before, not even when he had sustained heavy injuries in battle.

“Oh, _ma vhenan_. Is it really you? I’ve missed you so much,” Theron whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Your hair, it’s gotten so long.” He trailed his fingers through his husband’s blonde locks, which had fallen past his shoulders for some time now. Theron himself appeared much the same as how Zevran had left him, his silver hair pulled back into its usual braid to keep it out of the way as he worked. The gold earring Zevran had given him was still there, glinting in his ear. He looked tired, and perhaps there were a few more lines of weariness on his face. But Zevran would soon fix that.

Behind him, Velanna mouthed the words ' _ma_ _vhenan??'_ incredulously at Nathaniel, who muttered back, “I’ll explain later.”

“I have missed you even more, my sweet,” the assassin replied in a husky murmur, cupping the Warden-Commander’s cheek in one hand and stroking away the tear tracks with his thumb. “And I know how you like my hair loose. See, I have left it unbraided for you.” Zevran grinned.

“I still can’t believe you are here, in my arms,” said the Commander, his voice hoarse, eyes still shining with unshed tears.

“I promised I would be back, did I not?” The Antivan elf pressed their foreheads together. “I must apologise for not sending word ahead - my departure was a hasty one. But, I am by your side now, _amore_.”

“And you are not to leave it any time soon.” The authority in the Warden’s command was slightly ruined as he sniffled.

Zevran’s lips curved into a warm smile, a sight Theron had sorely missed.

“ _Ma nuvenin,_ my Warden.”

He leaned in to kiss his beloved, a kiss full of longing and pent-up passion, as the hand on Theron’s cheek slid to cradle the nape of his neck. The Commander moaned and clutched at his husband, kissing back just as fiercely, the two lost in their own little world. The other Wardens had all averted their gazes to examine the stone floor instead, which suddenly had become quite fascinating, though Anders was sneaking a peek or three.

“Hey, what’s all the commotion about? Why’s no one invited old Oghren to the party - by the Stone!”

A certain red-headed dwarf had caught up with the rest of his fellow Wardens, his arrival accompanied by the clanking of heavy armour. He turned to see what everyone was most decidedly not staring at, and clapped eyes on a familiar old face.

“Son of a thunder-humping bronto!” Oghren bellowed. “Well, if it isn’t my second favourite elf.”

The two lovers finally pulled away from each other. The Commander of the Grey, his pale cheeks glowing pink, was carefully avoiding eye contact with any of his subordinates. Zevran, however, brightened at the sight of his old comrade.

“Oghren! I thought I detected the familiar scent of unwashed dwarf. Like an Antivan fishwife on a hot summer day.” The assassin smirked.

Oghren jabbed Velanna in the ribs with his elbow. She looked scandalised.

“Good luck getting any sleep if you’ve got the room next to these two.” The dwarf scoffed. “These two were going at it every other day during the Blight, like a couple of nugs in heat. It’s a wonder any of us were awake enough to fight off the sodding darkspawn.”

The Warden-Commander went cherry red in the face, but Zevran looked quite proud of himself. Meanwhile, Anders was doing a bad job of hiding his snickering. Velanna was still gaping at the couple, unable to comprehend anything that had happened in the last ten minutes. Sensing the need to disperse the crowd, Nathaniel cleared his throat.

“Well, if everything seems to be in order, Commander, we should leave the two of you to get… reacquainted.”

Theron suddenly seemed to remember his position at the Keep. “Let the seneschal know we have a guest,” he told Nathaniel, sounding more like his usual self.

The Commander’s second nodded, then took Velanna, still shell-shocked and spluttering, gently by the arm, leading her away from the pair.

“You heard the man, let’s go. These lovebirds have got some _catching up_ to do.” Anders winked at the pair of them, then motioned to the dwarf, and they shuffled down the stairs after the other Wardens.

“I like that one.” The assassin mused, watching the mage go. “He is… feisty.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” The Warden-Commander chuckled.

“Well then.” Zevran turned back to his beloved, now that they were alone together at last. “Any chance of a hot bath, _amore_? I have been traveling for days, and I am really not fit to be in your presence in such a terrible state.”

“Of course, _vhenan._ ” Theron kissed him on the cheek. “I will prepare one for you.”

“Indeed? Any chance _you_ would be in that bath as well?” asked the Antivan elf, waggling an eyebrow.

“If you insist.” The Warden-Commander rolled his eyes, but a fond smile was playing at his lips nevertheless.

“Excellent.” Zevran clapped his hands together. “I have in my pack a bottle of the finest Antivan brandy gold can buy. Not my gold, but still.”

His husband laughed, and oh how he’d missed that lovely, musical noise. “Only if you promise to regale me with tales of your exploits in Antiva as we share it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else,” the assassin assured him, slipping an arm around the Dalish elf’s waist, as Theron led them down the corridor in search of a hot bath.


	2. Chapter 2

“He did not,” gasped a tipsy Zevran, slapping the side of the tub and giggling. He leaned back against the Warden’s chest. “The mage invited you to join him and the rogue in bed?”

Theron sat behind his husband, legs on either side of him, massaging soap into his hair. It had needed a thorough washing, after the days of travel back to Ferelden. “Not a word of a lie.”

“You could have done. I would not have minded at all, you know that.” His husband reached up and patted his hand sympathetically. “You are only elvhen. You have certain… needs, do you not?”

Theron prodded his husband in the ribs with his toes. Zevran only giggled more. The Antivan brandy in his glass threatened to slop over.

“Needs only my husband can fulfill.” Theron insisted, rinsing Zevran’s lovely golden hair clean. “And even if I wanted to invite others into my bed, I would not do it without you around.” He frowned at his own glass. It was worryingly empty. And not for the first time. The Warden leaned over the side of the tub to grab the bottle of brandy, topping them both off.

“Ah, but of course. There is no contest, once you have had the ridiculously awesome Zevran in your bed.” The Antivan elf raised his glass in a smug mock-toast to himself. “I see now - I have spoiled you for other men.”

The Warden giggled, as they clinked glasses. “Besides, Anders and Nathaniel have…” Theron searched the common tongue for the right phrase. Right now, it was taking longer than usual, to find words. “An understanding. You’d have to invite them both. And the Warden-Commander’s bed isn’t big enough for four.”

The assassin peered into the bathwater as if it were a divining crystal, musing. “The saucy mage, he would. But his sombre rogue, I am not so sure.”

Theron nodded, sinking back into the water. The bath had been deliciously warm when they’d both gotten in, but it was now cooling too much for his liking. “Agreed. Nathaniel is a reserved man, and difficult to read. Anders, on the other hand, is completely shameless. And I mean that as a compliment.”

Zevran cackled. “Oh, I wish I could have been caught up on all the salacious gossip while I was in Antiva. It would have made the trip far more interesting.” Then he narrowed his sly gaze at his husband. Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper for no reason at all, he asked, “Who do you think is… you know?” Zevran wiggled his hands around in a vague manner, but his partner understood.

“If Nathaniel isn’t the dominant one, I’ll eat one of my arrows,” said the archer with a snort.

“You never know!” Zevran countered, wagging a finger at him. “Perhaps the strong and silent rogue becomes raucous in bed when the saucy mage is there to _fill_ his every need,” he emphasised with a suggestively raised eyebrow.

Theron shook his head, as he remembered his second, captive in the Keep’s dungeon and snarling like a caged mabari. “I can’t picture him tamed. You should have seen him, when we first found Nathaniel. After all, the man did try to kill me.”

“We really need to talk about your habit of recruiting people who try to assassinate you, _amore._ ” Zevran gave him a little frown, eyebrows furrowed.

Theron laughed, wrapping his arms around his husband’s shoulders. “Oghren did warn me Nathaniel might ‘do a Zevran’. I am not entirely sure if he meant joining up with the Wardens or seducing me, though.”

“Us wayward rogues. We just can’t resist a strong, leather-clad man in a position of power.” Zevran let out a dreamy sigh. “Perhaps he requires a more authoritative figure to _submit_ to?” He nudged the Warden-Commander with his knee, a cheeky grin on his face.

Theron shrugged. “Perhaps if circumstances were different. It would not do to mix business with pleasure. No matter how pent up I was. I… managed… by myself,” he finished delicately.

“You poor thing. All by your lonesome.” Zevran tutted, turning around to face his husband, a pretty smirk on his face as he trailed a hand up the other’s calf in the water. “You should tell me all about how you ‘managed’. In great detail.”

“It would be easier to just show you.”

Theron rose from the bathtub, grabbing a towel to dry himself off. For several long moments, the sight of his nude husband dripping with water captivated Zevran, turning his mind blissfully blank.

Theron tossed the damp towel aside, and stood at the doorway to his bedroom. Zevran still had not moved from the tub.

“Well? Are you coming, or are you just going to stare all night?”

“How could I not?” was the assassin’s suave reply. “You are wearing my favourite outfit.”

With a derisive snort, Theron turned and disappeared into his bedroom.

“How I love to watch you leave,” sighed Zevran, before he too, rose from the tepid bathwater to join his husband.

* * *

The bed was fancier than anything they had managed to sleep in during their travels together, apart from the one at Arl Eamon’s estate. There had been a Blight, and Grey Wardens were not quite so welcome then. But now, Theron’s bed was big enough for two. He thought the four-poster hangings were quite unnecessary, but he kept them, since they reminded him of the sails of an _aravel._

“I’ve never slept in a bed so large by myself,” mused the Dalish elf, tangling his legs together with his lover’s as they lay together, still naked from their bath.

Zevran tutted, trailing his fingers over the lines of Theron’s hipbones. They always entranced him so. “What a tragedy, that you had to occupy it alone.”

“Well, what with my husband being called away to Antiva, I have had no choice.” Theron huffed, but shifted his legs apart obligingly when his husband’s hands wandered past his inner thighs. “I had to take care of… other matters… alone, as well.”

“You must have been so lonely,” cooed Zevran. “Will you show me?”

Theron shifted to lie on his back, while his lover, lounging on his side with his head propped up, watched with undisguised glee and hunger. Theron sighed and closed his eyes. This was all too familiar - the solitary nights alone when all he had was the memory of their bonding night, or the first time they had ever lain together.

“Sometimes, I come straight from the bath, like this,” the Warden murmured, touching himself with only the lightest strokes between his legs. “I pleasure myself, wishing it were your hands, and not mine. And I tease myself to the point of madness, like you would do to me.” One hand drifted lower, fingertips gently brushing his entrance. Theron let out a little breathy gasp that made Zevran’s teeth ache. “I imagine you are looking at me while I do this, _vhenan_.”

“I do love to watch you,” purred the assassin. “Does it excite you?”

“I think you know the answer to that.” The Warden cast his eyes away from his lover, his cheeks turning pinker. “I also imagine the things you might say… the things you might ask me to do.”

Fascinating. Zevran was dying to know. “Such as…?”

The archer bit his lip. “Asking me to show you more…” Theron spread his thighs further apart, while he toyed with his growing arousal.  “Or telling me to touch myself in other places.” He drifted a hand up his belly and over his chest, still using just the barest touch of his fingers to tease one sensitive nipple. He stifled a little bitten-off moan as he gave it a little pinch. “You are… very encouraging,” he finished in a breathless whisper.

“I try.” The assassin grinned like a skull. “Show me what else you do to yourself, my sweet.”

Theron’s cheeks burned red hot as he acquiesced. He reached over to retrieve the bottle of oil from his nightstand, affording his lover the most wonderful view of his rear as he did so. The archer lay on his back, coating his hand in oil before he slipped a slick finger into himself with a sharp, bitten-off moan. Such a sensual noise, to the assassin’s ears. It was making his own arousal rear its head with quite some ferocity, but he chose to ignore it in favour of observing.

Zevran watched him like a hawk, and it made him even harder, for his body to be on display like this, to know that this was a show for his beloved’s pleasure. Theron was sliding two oiled fingers into himself now, and soon could push as deep as he wanted. His fingers swept across a particular spot inside, and Zevran knew from the way it made him gasp and shudder. Theron stroked across it harder this time, and let out a soft whimper that made his lover want to ravish him, and violently so. But Zevran scraped together the last of his restraint, for he did not want this lovely show to stop.

“I think about how you might make me beg. Either for my release, or for you to be inside me,” Theron admitted. With his other hand, the Warden was stroking his cock, but still only with a featherlight grip, still thrusting his fingers in and out of his hole, torturously slow. It was the most beautifully wanton thing the assassin had seen in a long time.

“You like it when I am cruel sometimes, hm?” Zevran allowed himself to lean in and trace his tongue along the shell of his lover’s ear, as he spoke in a soft murmur.

Theron’s cheeks glowed red with more than a trace of shame. “Perhaps a little too much.”

“Your desires are not so unusual, _amore._ ” The assassin stroked strands of silky hair away from Theron’s forehead, a tender gesture. “And I am more than happy to indulge them.”

Theron’s spine arched up at a particular hard thrust of his fingers, biting his lip to stay quiet and failing. This was no different to what he would do alone, but now his husband was watching with such greed in his eyes. Zevran pressed a hand to his own cock - so hard, and leaking with want. It was difficult to resist any longer. He leaned in to kiss Theron, his lips moving against the other elf’s as he said, “You torture the both of us, my sweet.”

Oh, but he could do so much worse. Theron slid his fingers out of himself, with a soft whimper. Then he turned over onto his belly, knees wide apart, arse in the air. And knowing Zevran would not take his eyes off such a tempting sight, he began to slide three fingers into himself, with a loud moan, sinking them in as deep as he could.

“Ah, now this is a sight for sore eyes…”

The Antivan moved to kneel behind his lover for a better view, stroking a hand down Theron’s painted back. His gaze was predatory, as he watched Theron fuck himself with his fingers. Under his palm, he could feel lean muscle shifting under smooth skin, dark lines of a grand oak carved across it. His hands came to rest on the other elf’s arse, squeezing appreciatively. How long had it been since he’d done that? Too long. Zevran’s own need was mounting with every passing minute, so much so it was almost beginning to hurt. But he would not cave in just yet.

“How lovely you look, opening yourself up for my cock, hm?” The assassin let out a deep, dark chuckle. Oh, it was such a weakness of Theron’s, when his lover would speak to him like that, with filthy words and a filthier grin.

“Zevran, please,” Theron breathed, his thighs shaking as he worked his fingers into himself under his lover’s watchful gaze.

Zevran’s smirk was dirty now. “Oh, you can do so much better than that, _amore._ Ask me again.”

“I want you inside me, husband.” Theron pleaded, his fingers thrusting faster in and out of himself now, his cock leaking so much, dripping wet onto the bedcovers. “I have been hungry for so long, for this - for you.”

A grin split Zevran’s face, unseen by his lover, whose face was pressed into the pillow, his eyes closed in ecstasy. “You poor thing. All this time, and your fingers alone have not been enough to please you.”

Theron withdrew his fingers with a muffled cry. He leaned down, arching his back further and offering himself to his lover. “Fuck me, Zevran,” he begged. “Take what is yours.”

Zevran groaned happily.  “Now there is a command I cannot refuse.”

He retrieved the bottle of oil from somewhere within the mess of sheets, taking care to slick himself thoroughly, and even more care to slide his cock into Theron, slow to the point of madness.  Both of them cried out with relief, for they had been deprived of each other for so long. Theron was already sobbing at how good it felt to have Zevran’s cock inside him again, yearning for more. But it had been too long since they had last shared a bed, and Zevran did not want to hurt his lover. Theron felt so tight - it was all Zevran could do not to come there and then. But he waited.

“I am going to fuck you until you scream for me, my sweet Warden,” said Zevran in a low murmur beside Theron’s ear, lust curling in his voice, so savagely hungry for this. He had waited so long for this. He would make up for every night in Antiva he had spent alone and missing his husband’s perfect arse, with only his hand to satisfy him. “So loud, that the entire Keep will know that you are mine.”

Theron moaned at the sound of his promise, pressing his hips back for more of the Antivan’s cock. But Zevran was fucking him with long, hard thrusts, at an almost languid pace, dragging out the heated pleasure of each one as much as he could. Bastard. One hand sought purchase, tangled in Theron’s silver hair, the other clenched tight at his hip. The archer could turn his head enough to look up at Zevran, and see the feral look in his eyes.

Each drag of friction made Zevran clutch at his lover tighter, trying to sink deeper and deeper into him with every thrust, drinking in the other elf’s aching cries and gasps in return. The slow, searing pleasure was driving him mad, and he was desperate for his release. And judging by the way Theron was clawing at the sheets and rocking his hips back for more, his beloved was too.

“Zevran, please, I’m so close,” the Dalish elf cried. “Touch me, make me come for you.”

The assassin grinned. “You beg so prettily. How can I not give you everything you desire?”

Zevran wrapped his long fingers around Theron’s cock, stroking hard. His chest was almost entirely pressed to Theron’s back now as Zevran pounded into him roughly, just the way the Warden had longed for.

“Come, _amore,_ ” Zevran growled.

Theron let out a keening cry, wailing his lover’s name, nails digging into the bed the way Zevran’s clawed at his shoulder, as he came harder than he had in a long time. It was too much for Zevran, and soon he was coming forcefully inside his beloved with a sharp groan, clinging to him and panting heavily, as his own release burned through him.

Both of them collapsed onto the soft bed, falling onto each other. Both of them could not move for an age, boneless with pleasure. Finally, when their breaths were not as shallow, Zevran had the sense to roll Theron onto his side, shifting the pliant heap of elf off him, so that he could wrap his arms around his husband.

“Oh, how I have missed that.” Zevran buried his face into the crook of Theron’s neck with a happy sigh.

“So did I,” the other elf whispered back, smiling to himself and interlocking his fingers together with his beloved’s.

“You are so enchanting when you come,” Zevran muttered as he pressed little kisses to the other’s ear, mouthing at the gold ring pierced through it. “And before the night ends, I want to make you come again.”

“Why stop there?” The Warden-Commander laughed. “I could tell Nathaniel to clear my morning of tasks. And afternoon, if it comes to that. He can rule for a day. In fact…”

The Dalish elf rose from his bed, disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. Zevran whined. He emerged a while later, clean and tugging on his dressing gown.

“I’ll be back soon, _vhenan,_ don’t fret,” Theron reassured him, bending to kiss his beloved’s forehead. The assassin continued to pout as he lounged, naked, on the Warden-Commander’s bed, deliberately rolling over onto his stomach to show off his assets.

“Don’t be long.”

Theron trotted down the stone corridor to Nathaniel’s room, a few doors away. It was late, but it had to be done. As he approached, he heard hushed, familiar noises that died away instantly when he stopped outside the room. He raised a fist and knocked.

“Nathaniel? It’s me,” the Warden-Commander called. He heard a soft padding of bare feet, until it paused just before the door.

“Yes, Commander?”

“If anyone asks for me tomorrow, Nathaniel, tell them I am indisposed.”

There was a moment of silence, and the faintest sound of giggling that human ears might have missed, but not his elvhen ones.

“Understood, Commander. I’ll tell them you’re not to be disturbed,” his second responded, voice muffled through the thick wooden door. Theron smiled.

“Good man yourself. Goodnight, Nathaniel.”

“Good evening to you, Commander.”

He was about to step away, and then paused.

“Goodnight, Anders.”

“Night, Commander!” came Anders’ cheery reply.

Theron grinned at the wooden door, and then headed back to his room and waiting husband.

* * *

 Nathaniel turned to frown at the lump in his bed sheets.

“You know, hiding involves being quiet as well as being unseen.”

Anders emerged from the under the covers, his hair a mess, as Nathaniel had hastily thrown the sheets over him upon the Commander’s arrival. A sly smile of appreciation crept across his face.

“What is it?” The furrow between Nathaniel’s eyebrows deepened.

“You’re standing there in the altogether,” Anders pointed out, his smirk growing. "Can’t a man appreciate the beauty of the nude, male form?”

“You say the most ridiculous things, mage.” The rogue rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling more than a little exposed. He was not accustomed to anyone associating the word ‘beauty’ with him. But sometimes, just sometimes, Anders made him believe it.

“Come back to bed, love.” The mage grinned, wicked and inviting. “I’ll show you just how much I appreciate yours.”

Nathaniel sighed, and despite himself, cracked the smallest smile, as he climbed back into bed, into Anders’ waiting, open arms.

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve been playing DA2 and forgot that you had to install a mod, otherwise Zevran doesn’t remember that he’s been romanced and is committed to the Warden. Because I just played that scene and he doesn’t mention the Warden at all, Hawke flirted with him, and he went off with Isabela when she propositioned him. 
> 
> Meanwhile, my Warden is back in Amaranthine writing Lemonade about his cheating husband like WHO THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU IS? YOU AINT MARRIED TO NO AVERAGE WARDEN BOY


End file.
